Ugralgra
by Ugralgra
Summary: In Inheritance, Christopher Paolini has left many loose ends. In Urgalgra, follow Eragon as he transverses the dark unknown, Arya as she belatedly realizes the conflict her current positions pose, Murtagh as he tries to sort himself out, and Nar Garzhvog as he is forced to conquer other Urgal tribes.
1. Prologue: The Wanderer

Tears crept down the ancient Rider's face as he cradled the glittering stone he held in his hand. The cave concealing him was crumbling inward at the corners, and it would only be a matter of days before he'd have to search for a new home. He could use magic to help the structure stay erect, but he hadn't used magic for eons. Not since his dragon had been slayed.

He was bent down on his knees, head resting on his shaking hands. His tattered clothes exposed his bony torso, and a foul smell clung to his unwashed body.

Then the familiar voice came from the stone: _Stay strong . . . We have both been dealt a great blow when your dragon was lost. While you have lost your soul mate, I have lost my beloved child. Pain has consumed me for all these years, yet I still wait. I still wait for the new Rider._

The Rider's face drained of its color, and his entire body violently shook. When he spoke, his voice was filled with an aching sadness so deep, the Eldunarí knew that he would not be able to continue enduring for much longer. _You have lost your child, yes. But I – I have lost my soul mate, and with it, my sanity. A dragon lays many eggs, but a Rider only has one dragon._

The Eldunarí vibrated with pity, but when her rebuke came forth, it was firm. _Yes, but I did not merely lose a single child; I have lost all of them. My children – all of them! Believe me, I understand your loss._

No, you don't! Now the Rider stood, and an insatiable fury gripped him. He withdrew his pale blade from its withered scabbard and, with a howl, thrust it against the side of the cave. An audible _clang_ emanated as the sword buried itself in the wall, where it lay quivering. _You don't! _he repeated, his mental voice shaky. _No one does._

Seeing the Rider's reaction to his loss reawakened the painful void within the Eldunarí as well. She did not want to see his anger, to hear his cries. It was all too painful. _I beg of you: stop! Please, for me, just wait one more year. One more year . . . and if by then the Rider and his dragon don't come, we will both slip into death's slumber, and you will have my blessing to do so. _Her voice shook with emotion as she continued: _Don't you want vengeance? The Rider shall help us accomplish just that, and if we are persuasive enough, we can convince him to finally eradicate magic from the face of the world once and for all._

A sparkle of dim hope illuminated the Rider's slanted eyes, but it quickly vanished as his skepticism began to grow. _What makes you think the Rider will come here, to this island? We are thousands of miles away from all of the major lands._

He will come, she confidently responded. _He is not yet aware that every mainland in the world – every single one of them – is either currently inhabited or uninhabitable_._ But in time, he will find out. He will have to come here; it is inevitable. _

The Rider's hunched shoulders straightened, and he immediately felt a restraining stiffness spread through his back. Ever since he had fallen into his relentless depression, he had rarely stood upright. He realized that even an elf's flexibility could disintegrate with time. A reluctant sign or resignation then crossed his face. _Fine, a year. A year! But do not go back on your word, Old One, because if he does not come by then, I will have surely fallen into the merciless clutch of the void._


	2. Urgalgra

URGALGRA

The Kull lowered his massive horns, his face twisted in a sneer. In his right hand he held a black, razor-sharp scimitar. Across his shoulder slung a crude willow bow, but a deadly one nonetheless. He would use it if need be, but he preferred hand-to-hand combat, as it allowed him to directly feel flesh and bone dissolve beneath his ferocious blows. Usually he tended to knock down his opponents with his wooden shield and then use his hands to squeeze the life out of them. This method was the source of an innate primal pleasure which imbued his species. As he let his vision linger over the sight before him, however, a strange sensation clutched his stomach. His stoic face suddenly took on a disturbed look.

"Gazhov," he called to the Urgal near him, "what is that?" He pointed ahead.

"I can't be sure, Nar," the smaller creature responded. "But unless I am much mistaken, it appears to be a ship."  
_  
So he had been right_. The Kull's gut tightened painfully. He was not scared – no, such emotions did not exist for most of his kind, especially Kull. However, he was uneasy. A ship had not dotted the horizon for decades, not since he and his rams left Alalëa to explore this land. Back home, tensions between the accursed elves and his kind had dwindled; the rams had succeeded in purging the land of nearly all of them. The women they had not killed – such an act brought no glory and was only carried out by cowards. Neither did he or his rams subject them to their own pleasures. This was not due to mercy; his kind simply found elven females ugly and repulsive. Instead, they were kept as slaves, doing the petty works of his people, work that was below even the dams. If an elven woman cried or provoked a family, the dams and cubs would not hesitate to smite them. For them, such acts were not disgraceful. Some elven males had fled, but age would take them in time, no doubt. As for him and the Urgals under his command, they had been sent out to settle this distant land, and they had had but one purpose: to conquer.

When they had arrived on the land, however, they found no creatures of intellect to conquer, much to their disappointment. A hoard of massive, wolf-like beasts had emerged from the densely packed woods as they had headed inland, and he and his rams had taken relish in approaching them in kind, savoring the thrill of the soon-to-be minute battle as they wielded their bows, arrows notched. However, a shout from a group of maturing cubs had stopped them, and they had briefly turned around to search for the cause of the disruption. The cubs, their horns just beginning to jut above their mangled hair, had insisted on killing the creatures themselves, if only to earn their entitled honor. Heartily, he and the Urgals under his command had consented.

The cubs had roared and lowered their heads, banging their iron-spiked clubs on their metallic shields. They swung furiously as they headed straight into the mass of beasts. A torrent of roars and clamor entailed, and after several minutes, the beasts had been slain. In the process, three cubs had fallen dead. They had been honored by their funerals. The rest of the cubs who had survived had been granted honor not bestowed to their kind in living memory. Most cubs only killed goat or deer, and even the younger Kull dare not hunt anything larger than a bear. The cubs with him had needed the experience, though, as they had come to the new land on the premise that they would submerge themselves in _real _war.

The Kull rapped his head and tried sorting his thoughts; he had to keep them in the present. _Now real war will happen, _he thought. Yet, once again, the sense of calm certainty in prevailing evaded him, as did the thrill of war. _That ship is so slender and well-crafted_, he thought dimly. _Never once in nearly a century of living have I seen something of that nature_, _not even among the elves. _

Even now, the ship was approaching at a determined pace, not changing its course. The Kull barred his fangs and roared. _Do they not know that if they come ashore, we will shred them to bits? _

When finally the ship was less than a mile away, an idea struck him as though he had been rammed by a battleax. He could think quickly under pressure, and other than his unnatural height and brutal strength, this had been what earned him the title _Nar. _His physical attributes were uncontrollable; in them, he took no pride. His mind, however, he genuinely valued. It was something which took him beyond the average Kull, and something which he had worked on improving as the years had progressed. "Kesem!" he called to the Urgal magician near him.

The Urgal rushed to his side, eager to be of assistance. "Yes, Nar?"

"Go to the shore now. Extend your mind and tell me who the people that dare come to our land are."

The Urgal's response was as quick as the Kull's battle blows. "Of course."

The Kull's brow furrowed as his gray skin tightened. Of all the skills he possessed, magic was not one of them. Just as his kin had no say in who became a Kull and who didn't, magic similarly was a gift in which no one had a say in. It arbitrarily came to whoever it pleased, cub, ram, or Kull. He disliked the whole notion, because it made him vulnerable to something he could not counter and he did not derive any pleasure in having to rely on others for this sort of matter. He at least had learned to shield his mind against magical predators. In matters like this, however, he was at the mercy of magicians under his command.

He waited impatiently as Kesem approached the brink of the shore. Once there, he watched him inhale sharply and close his eyes. After a moment, he squealed and took a step back.

The Kull bounded toward him, his heart thudding wildly against his chest. "What's the matter?" he shouted.

Kesem turned to face him, his face struggling to maintain its calm, but the traces of fear dotting it betrayed his emotions. "I-It's just that I just encountered the strangest conscience – or should I say _consciences_ – in my entire life."

The Kull paused, heaving greatly. "What do you mean? Quick, speak!"

Kesem quickly darted around, trembling slightly as he watched the ship grow even closer. He then turned around again. "It's just that I feel well over a hundred minds, although they seem to be intertwined into one. They are all these massive, alien things, and each one individually can crush my mind if I dare attempt to penetrate it. There are a handful of other, separated minds jumbled in there, and these are the only ones which seem somewhat familiar. They have the feel of an elven mind, though still much different than the ones in Alalëa and much more powerful. At the very midst of these minds is this one elven-alien one which hums with authority and is by far the most potent."

The Kull himself, despite having been inured to the dangers of battle for decades, could not help a tremor from gripping him. He was tough and powerful, yes, and so were his dams, but if what Kesem said was true, he had no hope of victory. He had Kesem and another small group of magicians with him, but they were not even the top of their class back home, and based on Kesem's description, they could not hope to defeat the intruders even if they joined minds. He was a ferocious leader, but he was not a foolish leader. While other Nar may have pursued battle regardless, he himself was a realist, and he had no intention to lead his people on a suicide march.

He gritted his teeth, hating to do what he was about to, but knowing he had to do it. He was aware of the potential consequences. Yet, it was the right thing to do, and since when had anything stopped him from doing just that?

"Kesem, call out to the intruders, and greet them. Convey our greetings and tell them that we come in peace and mean no harm. It's most likely that these people are of war and wish us harm. If this is the case, we will crush them to smithereens. But until them, proceed as I have commanded."

Kesem threw him a quizzical look. It wasn't every day that a Kull, especially a commander, issued an order which involved peace. He could see, however, that the Urgal did not object to his decision. On the contrary, his eyes seemed to gleam with approval.

Kesem once more closed his eyes, undoubtedly reaching for the flow of magical energy stored within him. He then stood still as a statue for several minutes, teeth clenched. Sweat dripped from the corners of his horns. Eventually, he flinched and seemed to recoil.

"It's pointless," he hissed. "I can't so much as brush against their minds."

The Kull spat, fury etched across his withered face. His yellow eyes flashed viciously, and it seemed as though sparks would shoot out from them. His mind, however, was still clear. "Fetch the white flag, then. Hoist it, quick!"

Another group of Urgals began fumbling back to one of the camps in an attempt to search for the flag. Their efforts were for naught, however. The Kull had explicitly instructed Kesem to find the flag, and for good reason too.

Even as the group of Urgals began to take their third step toward the camp, Kesem had already begun muttering in the ancient language, his knees buckling. A moment later, a white flag freed itself from the confines of a half-collapsed tent and soared through the air to the magician. Satisfied, Kesem grabbed it and hastily smashed it against the ground, though he kept it upright. He once more rumbled in the ancient language, and then the flag, as if on its own accord, began rising higher and higher.

The Kull and the group tensely waited for a few moments. Then, something bizarre happened: a terrible pain erupted in their minds and a penetrating sound assailed their ears. Some of them clumsily stuck their fangs into their ears in an attempt to blot out the sound. Others shakily grasped their horns and heads to ease their searing minds.

The Kull knew they had all heard the sound; he could see it on their faces. However, the voice was not external – it seemed to emanate from within their own skulls. The voice was speaking in the Urgal tongue, though it was heavily accented and seemed to be getting fed from something like a memory by another interlinked mind.

The voice spoke again: _Hello, friends. I repeat once more: I come not to harm you. The people on this ship have come out seeking another land. We did not expect to be met with other living creatures. The others here and I are thrilled with your decision to raise the white flag; a very wise one, indeed. In case your friend Kesem did not warn you, we are a formidable opponent and it would not do you well to wage battle against us. We promise you that, should you be willing to welcome us into your land – erm, Urgalgra as you call it – with open arms, no harm shall befall you, and that we will leave within the week._

The voice paused. Then it continued in a rather bemused tone: _Oh, and by the way, my name is Eragon Shadeslayer._


	3. A Rider's Gratitude

Eragon sat on his makeshift cot, twiddling Aren in his hand. By the dim light of the flameless lantern magically suspended above his head, he could make out its features – in fact, with his elven vision, vividly so. He narrowed his eyes, allowing the image of the inscribed yawë to bore into his vision. _Yawë_. Elf friend. _Am I really? _Eragon thought faintly. And then he remembered Islanzadí, and how she had told him so long ago that he shouldn't have worn it, as it was designated for Brom. Brom . . . Thinking about him was painful, so Eragon diverted his mind and tried to focus solely on the basis of Islanzadí's words, until he realized that thinking about her was painful as well. Like Brom, she was gone.

_It's not like I would be seeing her anyway if she were alive_, he bitterly thought. He had left Alagaësia, and if Angela's prophecy was correct – as it had so far proved to be – he would not only be leaving his homeland for an unknown period of time, he would be leaving forever_. _

At the thought, Angela's prophecy boomed in his mind, sharp and unforgettable: _Look closely at this bone. You can see how its end rests on that of the sailing ship. That is impossible to misunderstand. Your fate will be to leave this land forever. Where you will end up I know not but you will never again stand in Alagaësia._

Never again . . . The words played over and over in Eragon's head like a never-ending echo, an inescapable life sentence. Or rather, a sentence for eternity. __

He was distinctly aware of Saphira listening to his thoughts. Eragon made no effort to resist her; he enjoyed her company. _Remember, little one, that Islanzadí only pointed out that you shouldn't have worn it initially; however, she excused your mistake and allowed you to continue wearing it on the basis that you saved Arya from an inevitably gruesome death_.

She seemed to recoil as she belatedly realized that the mention of Arya, too, pained him; in fact, much more than the thought of Islanzadí had. Nevertheless, Eragon sensed in her mind a thought which suggested that avoiding topics about people who had been important to them was foolish, so she continued. _And besides, you killed Galbatorix. It would be falsely modest to question whether that is considered helping the elves. Granted, it was simultaneously helping all the other races as well, but if that doesn't merit the yawë, then I don't know what does._

Eragon nodded in agreement, content as he felt his prior guilt begin to melt away. He felt a faint, sudden warmness make its way up his bosom. At first, he couldn't identify what had prompted the emotion. Then he knew. It was a feeling of comfort and gratitude; a recognition that although he had left nearly everything behind, he had not quite left _everything _behind. He had Glaedr, the Eldunarí, the soon-to-hatch eggs and their riders, and, most importantly, Saphira. He had felt that warmness trickle through his body because it was in fact gratitude that he had felt. Gratitude that Saphira was always there for him; that he could always count on her, always confide in her. A reluctant smile crept up the corners of his mouth. Then, like a receding tide, his smile gradually vanished as his body filled with anticipation. Within minutes, they'd be greeted by the native Urgals. He had already, with the assistance of the Eldunarí, extracted a lot of useful information from the creatures. He had no fear of mortal danger – overpowering them would be simple. Still, he was hoping to be greeted peacefully, and that was the cause of his present anxiety. He was too weary, too reluctant to take any more blood. Killing the Emperor's warriors had been a means to an end, and now that the end had been accomplished, he was more than content to retire from any violence.

_Saphira?_

Hmm?

Thanks . . . for everything.  
  
Eragon sensed a rhythmic hum resonate from within her. _You're welcome, little one._


	4. Vantage Point

A small ripple of smoke escaped Sahpira's nostrils as she stretched her wings. She was perched on the dock of the ship Eragon and the elves had taken from Du Weldenvarden. It was rather small, and it couldn't accommodate her very well. Blödhgarm had rationalized that a smaller ship would be much swifter, and if ever Saphira needed more time than usual sleeping or resting, the Eldunarí had more than enough energy to sustain the vessel. That was how it had been for a month at sea – her sleeping for several hours at night and then flying out in the morning to either hunt or simply free the ship from her colossal weight. She would occasionally return during the day for a brief nap or chat with Eragon, but the time she had for that never seemed adequate. She had no desire to expend the Eldunarí's energy in vain when it would potentially be needed for much more dire circumstances.

Now, however, she was content. She had already been on the dock for two hours. Ever since the day before – ever since the day they had been consciously aware of land ahead – Blödhgarm had given her permission to remain on the dock for however long she pleased. Knowing that there would be land in close proximity if anything went astray was the basis for the elves' and Eldunarí's unanimous decision to allow her extravagant periods aboard.

Her two-leg hatching lay nestled between one of her massive wings. On his lap rested Domia abr Wyrda, the book Jeod had given him so long ago.

A sad smile marked her hatchling's face as he softly brushed his finger along the line of her scales. He held up the brown cover of the book, its golden title rusty from age. _Domia abr Wyrda. Dominance of Fate_.

Saphira snorted softly. _Funny, isn't it? Fate is so very dominant – much more than it should be._

She sensed a sigh being released from her Rider. Like her, he too was thinking about them leaving Alagaësia.

Saphira's pressed her snout against Eragon's face, waiting for him to rub it. He did. _But remember, little one, that Angela said our fate was at our own hands. Nothing – not even her supposedly infallible prophecy – could dictate it. If we can control our fate, then perhaps the whole concept of destiny is utterly meaningless. As the dwarves say: 'If a structure contains a flaw, it may just entirely collapse.'_

Eragon smiled.__

…

The door leading to the dock opened. It was Blödhgarm. He smiled slightly, his yellowed fangs exposed. Behind him followed three of his elven spellcasters. Their visit surprised Saphira; being the peculiar elves that they were, they generally preferred solitude, and when they were not partaking in strange meditating habits, they were helping Glaedr and Umaroth tame the mad Eldunarí which Galbatorix had viciously subdued.

The furred elf bowed as he addressed Saphira. _Greetings,_ _Bjartskular_. He then turned toward Eragon and inclined his head, even as he did the same. "And to you as well, Shadeslayer."

Blödhgarm still hosted an unparalleled respect for Saphira, as she was a dragon, but his lofty attitude toward Eragon had significantly diminished. In fact, he now held him in a newfound reverence. Aside from being a Rider, he had killed Galbatorix, was the master of the Eldunarí, and was the soon-to-be leader of the New Order. He was different, even in the eyes of Blödhgarm and his spellcasters. And being an immortal, the elves had more than enough sense to recognize that Eragon could very possibly become as prominent a figure as Vrael once was, if not more so.

The elf then addressed Saphira with his mind, though he projected his thoughts in order to allow Eragon to listen. _I apologize for the abrupt intrusion, Bjartskular, but I must ask you to fly ahead of us and head inland. The Urgals will not take to it lightly if they have to greet us only to see an enormous dragon dropping out of the sky. No, it's best you go now. They may attempt an attack on you, no doubt, but with your accumulated wards and superior mental combating skills, they will never get the better of you._

Saphira pawed the crumbled ground beneath her. She then moved her head in a motion which somewhat resembled a nod. _I agree_. She then gently lowered her arced neck until it was level with the elf. _However, do not be so arrogant, elfing. Remember, it was an Urgal who slew Galbatorix's original dragon, and if that had never happened, history would have taken a much different route._

Blödhgarm's lips twitched, if only for a second. He then bowed his head. _I stand corrected._

Saphira snorted. _Good_.

She then unfurled her wings; Eragon and the elves had to step out of the way in order to avoid crushed by them. With a roar and a gigantic stride, she leaped into the air.

Wind blew against Saphira's face as she battered her wings, trying to gain balance. Her muscular legs skimmed the top of the water in her attempt to gain altitude. She quickly ascended a dozen yards into the air. She had developed a paranoia of sea water ever since she had nearly been bitten by a Nïdhwal during her initial flight to Vroengard. Of course she knew it was foolish to fret about something was which a rarity to begin with – and would certainly not happen in the extremely shallow water she was hovering over – but nonetheless, her marrow chilled as she reminisced the massive creature and its ravenous, insatiable hunger.

Saphira twirled in the air until her wings lay opposite its previous parallel positions. Extending the limb of her respective wings until their boundary, she allowed herself to drop about fifteen yards in the air, just before twisting back around and darting forward at a remarkable speed.

Even as she covered the last few hundred yards which separated her from the shoreline, she saw an Urgal's face contort in rage and shout something out, pointing toward her. Expecting such a reaction, Saphira flapped fervently until she was soaring higher and higher, away from any possible physical threat. Eventually, all that she heard around her was the rhythmic sound of her flapping and the howl of wind fluttering about her face.

Suddenly, a volley of arrows arced toward her, audibly whizzing through the air. She roared. Like she had told Blödhgarm before, the Urgals were not to be underestimated: the bows they used must have been far more powerful than the ones the humans in Alagaësia used to propel the arrows forward at such a great speed and intensity. Then again, the creatures shooting them were far stronger than the average human.

As the arrows flew at her, she realized she would never avoid them in time. So, instead, she loosened a deafening shriek and bathed the oncoming missiles in a torrent of hot-blue flames. The arrows instantly disintegrated on the spot.

She spiraled downward, knowing that she was more than capable of defending herself, and that she always had Eragon's wards as additional protection just in case. She pondered whether it was worth attacking the Urgals in return. If she did, she would inevitably provoke them. But if she didn't, they may just get the wrong idea that they could stir up trouble without receiving retribution, and she couldn't let that happen.

A cluster of Urgals saw her coming and roared, pointing their clubs at her and notching more arrows into their bows. Saphira had to give them credit: they were as brave and brazen as their reputation held them to be. As she descended, more arrows soared toward her, even as more and more groups of Kull and Urgals came sprinting to the shoreline from various locations situated further inland.

Saphira released another column of flames as more arrows came in her direction. She quickly realized that she could not solely take on the defensive until she came into closer proximity with them. More archers had joined in the quest to kill her, and arrows were flying at her from all directions. Already she had begun to feel the gentle sapping of her energy which indicated that her wards were being penetrated.

She hastily skirted off to the side, following a haphazard pattern of twists and swerves in order to avoid contact with the Urgals' arrows. When they seemed taken aback by her violent, sudden aerial jerks, she took advantage of their momentary surprise. In a wild frenzy, she loosened column after column of rippling flames, shooting them in all directions of the camp.

Masses of Urgals dove out of the way to avoid the flames. Some tents were alit, fire creeping up their sides. She saw a few Urgals twitching on the ground, their faces consumed with pain, and then they moved no more. Saphira felt an involuntary lurch kick her stomach. She had officially killed intellectual creatures – the first time since venturing out at sea. Besides, the Urgals were _justified_ in attacking her; they had no idea who she was.

A pained wail rose from the camp below. Enraged, every Urgal standing on the shore drew back his bow as far back as he could and took aim at her. Saphira had only a moment to prepare. Myriads of arrows came speedily darting toward her, their shafts transparent shimmers in the air. As every arrow was released from its respective bow – all aimed at either her wings or exposed underbelly – she sprouted a flume of flames in front of her and then rotated her body exactly halfway, even as she had done when flying inland minutes before. Most every arrow either melted from her fire's intensity or harmlessly sailed by. She did feel a small pinch of energy being drained, however, as she felt a handful of arrows assail her wards.

Now it was Saphira's turn to attack. She spitefully gnawed her teeth, feeling flames fuel on her barbed tongue. When she waited long enough for the flames to reach their full potency, she shot them out, almost as if in a belch. The flames she had shot were not geared toward quantity as she had done before in her frenzy. These flames were a single stream, but if they struck, there would be no avoiding them. Havoc would be the only result.

Many of the Urgals' eyes narrowed in fear as they saw the oncoming flames. Some of them ducked behind their shields, but they knew it was pointless – Saphira saw it in their eyes. However, a single Urgal – actually, based on his looming height and distinct war helm, a Kull – remained calm and shouted an order to an Urgal standing nearby. The Urgal nodded. Even from her position atop the roaring flames, Saphira heard the Urgal shout: "Letta!"

Saphira roared, her sapphire eyes wide in surprise. The flames she had sent at the Urgals had frozen midway, its curved surface resembling a crashing wave. The Urgal seemed immune to the drained magic's pressing demand for energy. _How can he maintain that spell for more than a few seconds_? She thought weakly.

The Urgal screwed his bushy eyebrows tight, mustering his energy. A moment later he had shouted yet another spell. "Thrysta!"

The flames compressed, and it increased tremendously in intensity. Then, they swirled in the air and flew in the opposite direction, toward her.

Saphira growled. _How dare he use my conjuration against me? _She dove out of the way as the rebounded flame came her way, but she was too late. Well, at least partially. The flame had missed the center of her torso but it had nipped her right wing. She howled in pain as she felt the wards protecting that part of her body give way. Reluctantly, she turned her head to look at her scorched wing. She flinched. A dozen or so of her previously gleaming scales were now completely dulled, their prior sparkle replaced with a dead blackness.

Hating to do it but knowing she had no choice, Saphira retreated. She furiously flapped her wings for a minute until she was certain she was out of harm's way, even from the Urgals' arrows. She doubted any of the Urgal magicians could reach her mentally, but if they did, her wards would alert her and then she would crush them.

She then felt an urgent consciousness press against her own. Clumsily, she tried blocking her thoughts, until she realized that the person contacting her was Eragon. _What? _She cautiously asked, though she feared she already knew the answer.

Her hatchling's mental voice came out rushed: _The elves and I just exited the ship and were attacked by arrows and spears from the Urgals. Our wards protected us, and even now we have conjured magical defenses, but we cannot stay like this forever. One of Blödhgarm's spellcasters has killed two of them immediately after the attack, but I forced her to stop the assault as I felt like something has gone astray. I do not believe that the Urgals offered us peace only to lure us into battle. Saphira, what has happened? _

Saphira avoided answering for several moments, even as she sensed a barrage of artillery crashing into Eragon's defensive spell. She had no worries; he was aided by the Eldunarí, and stopping Urgal attacks would not prove difficult for quite some time. Then she slowly answered. _Little one . . . this is my fault. The Urgals, not knowing who I was, attacked me, and instead of waiting for you to come ashore and clarify, I was too rash and decided to attack myself. I have killed several of their warriors. _

She sensed indecision circulating throug her Rider's mind. Like her, he did not know what to do. He felt that the Urgals had not truly stirred up the trouble, but once provoked – especially after negotiating with an enemy – an Urgal would never accept an apology. Anyhow, he was altogether reluctant to engage in war after his hiatus from violence.

Saphira's tail swooshed back and forth in anticipation. No matter what, Eragon would eventually have to retaliate physically. No matter how much energy he had from the Eldunarí, he could not make his wards infallible to vigorous, never-ending attacks.

Then, like when she had found a sudden burst of inspiration to create Brom a tomb many years ago, an idea came to her. _Eragon! _

Her Rider didn't respond verbally, but she knew he was keenly listening.

She paused, trying to figure out how to word her new idea. Then: _As much as you'd hate to admit it, we both know that we won't be able to gain sympathy with the Urgals, no matter how much we rationalize with them that they could never hope to defeat us. They are too stubborn and consumed with rage. You must somehow find a way to alter their memories of what has just transpired. _

Eragon seemed to consider her plan for a few tense moments; then he related his feedback. _This will prove difficult, no doubt, though it certainly isn't impossible. Galbatorix had done something similar to Nasuada when he had tortured her, and what he did was much more complex: he changed her perception of reality with accurate details based off various Eldunarí's memories. I do indeed hate to admit it, but I feel that it is the only choice we have. _


	5. Mind Manipulation

_Twang_. _Twang_. _Twang_. Eragon flinched as another incoming volley of arrows sped toward him, only to be halted inches before his body by his wards. Thankfully, due to the combined efforts of the elves and Eldunarí, his wards would not be going anywhere anytime soon. Nor, Eragon thought, would he maddened desire for vengeance which was currently dominating the Urgals.

Eragon risked a quick glance toward his right. Blödhgarm's lips twitched into an odd smile as missile after missile – arrows daggers, and spears alike – harmlessly rebounded off his wards. Two of the furred elf's spellcasters on either side of him, however, did not seem to be enjoying their present scenario at all. Their faces were livid, and Eragon saw Yaela, the female elf that had slayed two Urgals, nimbly dance out of the way of the incoming avalanche, despite having an abundance of wards. Though on the surface her face appeared impassive, Eragon could not help but notice that a vein on her temple throbbed as fervently as fast-beating heart, and that her hand was resting on her sheathed sword, her grip painfully tight.

The vast conscience of Umaroth lightly probed Eragon's mind. His voice was calm, but a measure of urgency permeated it. _Shadeslayer, I fear that if we procrastinate much longer, Galbatorix's former Eldunarí may sense something amiss and, in their confusion, lash out at us. You have heard Saphira's plan; we must act soon._

Eragon nodded, though he knew Umaroth would not see the motion. His throat stretched painfully as he swallowed. It then dawned upon him that although he had all the strength of Saphira, the Eldunarí, and the elves, he had no idea as to how he would erase the Urgals' memories.

Umaroth seemed to sense Eragon's doubts. _Do not worry; you will have the knowledge of the other Eldunarí and myself to aid you. The elves – being that they are capable of formulating words and consciously weave magic – will assist with the task as well._

Glaedr's conscience then slithered into the interlinked minds of Eragon and Umaroth, his mind less overwhelming than the latter, but massive and wise as well. _Know, Shadeslayer, that it would not do you well to completely erase the Urgals' memories. Not only is doing so much more difficult than alternative methods, it is also incredibly foolish. Imagine for a moment if we were to in fact eradicate any trace of what has just transpired from their minds. They will awaken from their daze and try to recall what had happened for the past two hours or so. When they fail to do so, they will consult in one another to see if they each have loopholes in their memories. When this occurs – and they will no doubt discover that all of their memories have been tampered with – they will inevitably grow suspicious of us, and our possession of magical power will not satiate their suspicions one bit. Therefore, we will have to replace their memories._

More and more of the Eldunarí from the Vault of Souls began chiming in, their overlapping voices a discordant wave of confusion. The younger of the Eldunarí seemed to echo Glaedr's words or simply stated their consent. _I agree, Glaedr-elda, _came the mental voices of several of the disembodied dragons. The older Eldunarí, on the other hand, shared a plethora of mental images, though what Eragon seemed to glean from these flickering thoughts were more or less what Glaedr had said. The images of the very oldest of the Eldunarí – wild dragons being the most prominent of the group – were entirely incoherent altogether. Among these ancient consciences Eragon sensed Valdr, the dragon who had lingered over an image of the dreams of a group of sleeping starlings, their seemingly petty content beginning to grow in importance until it seemed equal to the worries of kings.

Remembering that it was Valdr's image which had inspired him to cast the Empathy Spell on Galbatorix – which had ultimately been the primary factor leading to his downfall – Eragon paid especially close attention to his particular flurry of thoughts. But he soon realized that unlike last time, his thoughts were not significantly urgent or persistent; it was haphazard and intangible.

Again Glaedr cut in, his voice sharp and clear – a sharp sword piercing a chunk of clinking armor. _Enough! We must make haste. While we tarry, time ticks. Eragon, before we assist you and the elves in your quest, you must realize that you cannot cast this magic on all the Urgals at the same time. Simply stated, it would be much too difficult to maintain the proper concentration to change all of their memories with believable replacements at the same time. However, if we are to take on the Urgals' minds once by one, a problem arises: After we twist the memories of one Urgal and proceed to the next, the confounded Urgal will see the rest of his kind firing arrows at us, and then our memory replacement will prove to be useless. No doubt, the mind-tampered Urgal will not ask questions and will immediately proceed to join his brethren in wreaking damage upon us. Therefore, after you have altered the memory of one of the Urgals, you must then proceed to place him into a deep slumber. After the last Urgal has been placed into this slumber, you will simultaneously awaken them all, before which we will have cleared up the damage of the currently ensuing battle and manipulated our look and position to coincide with the new memories placed into the Urgals._

A mental murmur of consent rose from amid the clustered consciences. Among the voices, Eragon heard a handful of elves; unbeknown to him, they had been present during Umaroth and Glaedr's talks.

The mental commotion then abruptly stopped, even as Eragon's mind cleared and he saw another sea or artillery rain down on him. He inhaled sharply, the cool air biting his lungs. He closed his eyes and extended his mind. _Saphira!_

Instantly, a roar came in response. There was then a great flapping nose, and for a moment, the sun seemed to extinguish. Its light then gradually began to burst through, as though a cluster of menacing grey clouds had just parted. In fact, the figure which had just blotted out the sky was from menacing and gray; it was an exotic dragon with magnificent blue scales, their surfaces shimmering under the sun's burning glare. _Little one?_

The beating of her wings subsided. Eragon lifted his gaze to meet hers, the sapphire tint in her eyes shining with anticipation. _Saphira . . . I know that you have just as little experience as me in this matter, but I'd like – I'd need you to help me out along the way.  
_  
A trail of smoke steamed from Saphira's nostrils as she responded. _You know, I don't know why you can't just let me roast them all to a crisp. They're such a nuisance as it is, and it'll save us a great deal of time and energy. _She paused, and then gingerly continued_: Besides, if we get rid of them, we could use this land for the next generation or Dragon Riders. It would be fitting, wouldn't it? The creatures directly responsible for the death of Galbatorix's first dragon – and, indirectly so, the fall of the Riders – get shoved aside to make room for the rebirth of those they destroyed._

_Saphira! _Eragon felt her falter underneath his reprimanding tone. _Really, now, you can't actually be serious. Besides, as harsh as it may sound, had it not been for the circumstances following the fall of the Riders, we would have never met the beings we did and be the beings we are. Or, you could have never hatched for me in the first place. _He shuddered as he considered the thought. _And let's be completely honest: It was you who provoked the Urgals and got us into this mess._

Saphira snorted. _First of all, I don't care what their reasons were – they attacked me first. Secondly, relax, I was only joking. Worry not, hatchling; I shall assist you no matter what._

Eragon grinned, satisfied.

๛__

Beads of sweat clung to Eragon's face as he dodged a dozen arrows, the motion more of a result of instinct than necessity, as his wards were still intact. Still, he had recently begun feeling the negative impact of the wards on his reserve of energy.

About half an hour ago, he had retreated a mile down the coast, casting a spell to conceal himself before the Urgals had caught up with him. Once the Urgals had retired from their futile search for him, Glaedr, Umaroth, and the rest of the Eldunarí had coached him on how he was to carry out the mission, making him repeat the exact wording and pronunciation of phrases from the ancient language numerous times.

Now, Eragon's eyes carried a determined look about them. He turned his head to meet the gaze of the elven spellcasters a few yards to his side. They had not joined him in his lessons, as they claimed that they were well-informed on how to work the magic needed at hand. It had been unsettling for Eragon to realize that, despite having a surplus of energy and strength and knowing the True Name of the ancient language, there were still things that he could not do; things that the elves could.

Sharp as they always were, each of the elves caught his eye. Eragon nodded; it was time. They returned the gesture.

Their plan was simple enough. He and the elves would muster energy from Saphira and the Eldunari and, like the Eldunari themselves had done to himself, Saphira, and Glaedr at the Vault of Souls, they would tackle the minds of each Urgal individually, completely subduing it. They would then make the Urgals think that everything up to their encounter with Saphira had actually happened as it really did, but they manipulated the events which occurred afterward. The creatures were to believe that they had indeed attacked Saphira, but that she had not retaliated.

Instead, they were to believe that Saphira had opted to retreat, and had alerted Eragon of the Urgals' attack. Eragon, according to the fib, had contacted Kesem, the group's head magician, and alerted him that Saphira was in fact part of their group and meant no harm. Following that, Nar Hazak had issued an order to cease the attack.

The tricky part would be explaining the Urgal corpses. One of the elves had suggested that they make the Urgals think that after Nar Hazak had commanded the assault to stop, a handful of Urgals had protested, calling the command "un-Urgallike."

Nar Hazak, out of self-preservation, had refused to revise his order. This had then resulted in these Urgals lashing out at their brethren at random. Ultimately, they were outnumbered and brought down. These "rebels" would be the currently slayed Urgals. Eragon and the others had thought it was a superb idea, so they had agreed to do it.

Eragon was the first to attack. He reached out to the Eldunarí, and in moments a river of energy surged through him, the momentum of it all feeling as though it might rip his heart out.

_How ironic that would be, _Saphira amusedly observed, hearing his thoughts.

Eragon laughed, similarly amused. Then, with a mental lunge, he seized the mind of Kesem, the Urgal magician. He wanted to first take out the Urgals with magical abilities, as it would be potentially cumbersome to subdue an Urgal while it is being assisted by a fellow magician.

Eragon nearly jumped back as he realized that he had gained full control of the magician in a mere matter of seconds. Around him, Eragon saw the elves doing the same to the remaining magicians. Although Eragon knew it was would be irrational to expect a formidable resistance after having the minds of Glaedr, Saphira, and himself – all individually much more powerful than Kesem's – pried open in seconds by the same Eldunarí now assisting them, he was still surprised nonetheless. After carefully reciting the necessary words to alter the magician's memory, he then placed him into a heavy slumber – a feat he did not need coaching for, as he had done it on more than one occasion in the past.

The process of subduing the Urgals took nearly an hour. Subduing them was not the issue; that they had been able to do efficiently and quickly. Rather, it was the process of altering their memories where the difficult part kicked in. For one, they had to carefully utter every word in the ancient language with great care. Although Eragon had the Word to aid him in case anything went astray, he nevertheless did not treat the matter light-heartedly; even with the Word, mental damage was much more complex to heal than physical injuries. Additionally, the structure of the Urgals' brains was structured much differently than the brains of humans, dwarves, and elves. It possessed an animal-like element to it, thought it was coated with intellect.

Seeing as Eragon and the elves had never much been exposed to an Urgal's mind, they had to rely on the older Eldunarí for assistance, and that proved to be a barrier. Moreover, he and the elves had to fix all of the broken Urgal weapons sprawled about them on the mossy ground and replace them into the Urgals' possession. They were not exactly sure as to which weapons belonged to whom, so they distributed the weapons evenly among the unconscious creatures, hoping that it wouldn't rouse suspicion. Finally, they resumed their positions prior to Saphira's attack, and then released the spells fatiguing the Urgals.

Now, Eragon saw many of the creatures blindly stumble and grapple about, their hideous faces momentarily bewildered. Then, they quickly recovered, the time taking them to do so being as long as their initial stage of befuddlement. As Eragon and the elves casually pulled ashore and Saphira landed in front of them, Nar Hazak and Kesem came sprinting toward them, their faces alit with wonder and their bodies not even panting slightly.

Nar Hazak spoke first, his voice an avalanche of rumbling rock. "Greetings, Shadeslayer!" He grunted, and then his voice took on an excited edge. "Do tell us how you got your name – my blood boils to hear this story."

Kesem's voice was the second to sound, his voice cutting in before Eragon could respond to the massive Kull's question: "Welcome! I do not often show signs of mercy to intruders, but I must apologize for our rams' behavior. We thought that the hornless creature flying toward us was some strange magic you have conjured in an attempt to destroy us. We did not know this creature meant us no harm; we are sorry, but attacking your pet was the only thing we could do."

He then heard a grunt from Saphira. _How dare he call me a . . . pet. _She rolled the last word around in her head sourly, as though she had just bitten into a rotten carcass. Then she flicked her tail, annoyed.

Eragon frowned, he too thinking that the magician had acted rudely.

As Eragon headed off several miles northwest – to a location where the Urgals had told him he may go to with the elves – he pondered the overall lack of expression the Urgals had demonstrated when seeing Saphira. He had not expected excitement or disbelief per se, but perhaps anger at the very least. After all, Urgals generally weren't very fond of dragons.

It then occurred to Eragon that the Urgals had no idea what a dragon was.


	6. The Furry Villain

Eragon felt his lethargic eyes begin to droop; he made no effort to resist the urge. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with air. Slowly, he allowed small doses of air to gradually exit his sealed lips as he exhaled. Basking in his new calm, he strained his ears until his hearing extended as far as they possibly could. Likewise, he filled his nose with the odors wafting through the campsite.

It had been two nights. Two nights since he, Saphira, the elves, and the Eldunarí had ventured into Urgalgra – the land annexed by the native Urgals. It had been somewhat unsettling to have his vessel pull up on shore and see the respect, awe, and even fear that the creatures had displayed when Eragon exited the ship. Although Eragon knew the Urgals' emotions stemmed from their own fear of his unparalleled power, it was still disturbing to relive the aftereffects of going from a farm boy to the new leader of the Dragon Riders. It reminded him of a child who leaves his hometown to receive an apprenticeship in his father's profession and upon returning home finds that the people who had once treated him as a child now view him as an adult.

_It's amazing, isn't it? _Surprised, Eragon absentmindedly turned to see from where Saphira had addressed him, only to remember that she was yards away and outside his tent.

Though he sensed what Saphira was going on about from images swarming around in her mind, he nevertheless wished to converse with her though open dialogue, so he played along. _What is? _

_That the Urgals still live in other parts of the world, as do the elves. It only makes you wonder which species in Alagaësia also inhabit other regions. Or more interestingly, whether species we've never heard of exist elsewhere._

Eragon inhaled again, practicing the meditation Oromis had taught him so long ago. He had listened to Saphira with genuine interest; he was similarly awed. _I know._

He paused for a while, sighing as he felt his limbs relax, and knowing that although he had given his word to leave Urgalgra and would thus have to continue searching for a home for the Eldunarí elsewhere, he no longer had the legitimate fear of the past few years pressure him anymore. _Galbatorix is dead_. The thought still seemed surreal.

After several minutes of meditating, he protruded his thoughts until he lightly tapped Saphira's mind. He smiled as he glimpsed an image of a deer standing before her. She was wearing the ring Orik had given her as a gift when last they met, which allowed her to stalk her prey without warning alerting them of her whereabouts. Then, both through his mental link and physically, he heard her roar. Within moments, the deer limply hung dead from her ravenous maw.

Telegraphically, he heard Saphira make an amused sound which oddly resembled a chuckle. _Sorry_, she said, chewing the meat. _But I had to do that._

She continued crunching, then tossed the back half of the deer in the air and caught it with her sharp fangs, even as she would when toying with a live animal. _I've just been thinking . . . you know, there's absolutely no fun in using this ring or ensnaring my prey with a mental attack. It reminds me of how Rhunön pointed out that using magic for her craft would deprive her of any pleasure or feeling of accomplishment since she has an eternity to work, and magic would leave her too much at ease and with an abundance of free time. I similarly feel petty and shallow when I need to resort to tactics such as magic to accomplish something I'd be able to do with relative ease regardless._

Eragon chortled. _A wise observation_.

Eragon sensed Saphira casually flick her tail. _Why, thank you_. She paused to toss her head and snap her jaws. Through his heightened sense of hearing, Eragon heard the audible _crack _of the deer's bones as they snapped. _Anyhow, in all seriousness, what was it you wished to inquire of me when you tapped my mind?_

It had to do with the Urgals. I've been thinking . . . In practical terms, what do you think is the most important thing that we've learned throughout our journey?

Saphira thought for a moment, ceasing her maw movement, and Eragon sensed her stiffen. She perched thus for several moments. Then: _I don't know . . . what?_

A wry smile touched his lips as he felt her mind brush against his, trying to glean a clue from his mind. But to no avail. Eragon had deliberately shielded his mind from her. _Remember when Oromis asked us why we were fighting Galbatorix when we were potentially causing more harm than we were preventing? He had pointed out that while Galbatorix was indeed ruthless and selfish, his madness generally did not affect the average person in the Empire. The Varden marching in to attack, however, would inevitably affect everyone in the vicinity of the cities we overtook – and perhaps everyone in general. Remember how I struggled with answering that question?_

A hint of recognition from Saphira touched Eragon's mind. She did indeed recall when Oromis had dabbled in philosophy with them and how the question Eragon reminded her of had troubled him. She also recalled how she had been much quicker than him to rationalize why it was worth overthrowing Galbatorix, and how she had refused granting Eragon the answer until he had thought of it himself. _I remember._

Good, then you must have put two and two together and realized that I'm not going to give you the answer until you think about it yourself.

A snort was her response. _Fine._

๛

_Eragon!  
_  
Eragon leaped from his cot, heart racing. His head spun as he tried to place the mental voice – a familiar one, unmistakably that of a dragon – which had called out to him.

Again: _Eragon!_

Eragon quickly recovered from the daytime slumber which had crept up on him. He now realized that the voice was Glaedr's.

Eragon was already sprinting out of the tent, Brisingr halfway out of its scabbard. Before Glaedr could elaborate, Eragon heard a fiendish howl piece the night.

Eragon's scalp pricked. He faintly recognized the sound of that voice . . .

Running yet faster in the direction of the voice, Eragon quickly murmured words in the ancient language to ease his path through the dense woods. A myriad of needled bushes and plants gracefully parted as he passed by them.

Another yowl resounded, nearly similar in tone and pitch, but clearly from a different individual. This one had sounded so quick, it was almost as if the creature who had released the noise was unable to complete it.

Extending his mind, Eragon drew upon the energy of the Eldunarí, who he had, along with the dragon eggs, well protected in a reserve beside his camp with magical spells. They hastily assisted him.

With the new landslide of energy propelling him forward, Eragon reached the site of the commotion within seconds.

What he saw literally made his mouth drop open. It clumsily hung there, saliva beginning to form at its corners.

A pile of Urgal corpses lay in the center of the clearing. Still standing, a single Urgal was swaying, clutching a spear embedded within its chest. And standing near the pile of dead bodies, his face deathly white and livid, stood Blödhgarm.


End file.
